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Book __
FIFTY
LYRICAL BALLADS
BY
THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.
BATH :
PRINTED BY MARY MEYLER, ABBEY CHURCH- YARD.
1829.
*J3
.^■-
205449
'13
r
TO THE
EARL OF STAMFORD AND WARRINGTON
MY LOUD,
TO YOU I BEG TO DEDICATE THIS VOLUME OF SONGS, ON THE
PLEA OF RELATIONSHIP.
THE LATE EARL OF STAMFORD'S GREAT GRANDFATHER, AND MY
FATHER'S, WERE BROTHERS : I THEREFORE REQUEST YOUR LORDSHIP TO
ACCEPT THIS OFFERING FROM
YOUR LORDSHIP'S OBEDIENT, HUMBLE SERVANT,
THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.
JANUARY 1, 1829.
These Songs are all published with Music, but being the Property of
various Persons, the Author has not the power of publishing them collectively.
This Volume has therefore been printed for private circulation.
MY HARP OF SIGHS.
Alas I am not what I was
When last I sang to thee,
The playful song that won thy smile,
Is not the song for me :
My harp of smiles upon the earth
Unstrung, and broken lies ;
And well I know that one so young
Will scorn my harp of sighs,
B
J*
I have no song of youth and hope
That does not close in care,
I have no tale of woman's love
That ends not in despair ;
I only breathe the name of joy
To tell how soon it dies,
I only sing the songs that suit
My dear — dear harp of sighs.
I could not — if I would — be gay,
For when I touch the chords
I throw a shade of sadness o'er
The melody, and words :
Grief thro' her darkened glass, discerns
No sunshine in the skies,
The voice must mourn that mingles with
Thy notes, my harp of sighs !
OH AM 1 NOT A LOVER STILL?
Oh ! am I not a lover still,
In heart and soul the same —
As when I sought thy bower first,
And learnt to breathe thy name ?
Oh ! look I not as proud of thee ?
Oh ! speak I not as kind ?
And when I leave thee, do I not
Leave joy itself behind ?
The love I offered long ago,
Is but matured by time ;
As tendrils round their chosen bough,
Cling closer as they climb :
Then am I not a lover still,
In heart and soul the same,
As when I sought thy bower first,
And learnt to breathe thy name ?
B 2
.**•
THE BBIDEMAID.
The Bridal is over, the guests are all gone,
The Bride's only sister sits weeping alone ;
The wreath of white roses is torn from her brow,
And the heart of the Bridemaid is desolate now.
With smiles and caresses she deck'd the fair Bride,
And then led her forth with affectionate pride ;
She knew that together no more they should dwell,
Yet she smiled when she kissed her and whispered farewell.
She would not embitter a festival day,
Nor send her sweet sister in sadness away :
She hears the bells ringing — she sees her depart, —
She cannot veil longer the grief of her heart.
She thinks of each pleasure, each pain, that endears
The gentle companion of happier years ;
The wreath of white roses is torn from her brow,
And the heart of the Bridemaid is desolate now.
QH NO, WE NEVER SPEAK OF HER!
Oh no — we never speak of her,
Her name is never heard ;
My lips are now forbid to breathe
That once familiar word :
From sport to sport they hurry me,
To banish my regret ;
And when they win a smile from me,
They think that I forget.
They bid me seek in change of scene
The charms that others see ;
But were I in a foreign land,
They'd find no change in me :
'Tis true that I behold no more
The valley where we met,
I do not see the hawthorn tree—
But how can I forget ?
6
For ah, there are so many things
Recall the past to me,
The breeze upon the sunny hill,
The billows on the sea ;
The rosy tints that deck the sky
Before the sun is set ; —
Aye, ev'ry leaf 1 look upon,
Forbids me to forget.
They tell me she is happy now,
The gayest of the gay ;
They hint that she forgets me,
But heed not what they say :
Like me, perhaps, she struggles with
Each feeling of regret,
But if she loves as I have loved,
She never can forget.
7
I HAVE LOVED THEE.
I have loved thee in the brightness of thy beauty and thy bloom,
I have loved thee in the shadow of thy sickness and thy gloom ;
I have loved thee for thy sweet smile, when thy heart was light and gay ;
Yet I loved thee even better when the smile had pass'd away :
Alas ! I never loved thee with the common love of earth,
The love that boasts it's proud success in revelry and mirth ;
My love was nursed in secret, like a blossom that has furl'd
All it's sweet leaves from the notice and the sunshine of the world.
8
THE HEART OF A SOLDIER.
The heart of a soldier
Surrenders to thee ;
The Champion of Freedom
No longer is free :
He decks with his laurels
Thy sylvan retreat,
And the spoils of the conquer'd,
He lays at thy feet.
But say, were I summon'd
Again to the field,
Would'st thou bring my helmet,
My sword and my shield ?
And scorning the softness
Of tearful delay,
Would'st thou urge me forward,
To horse, and away ?
9
Yes ! such is the duty,
And such is the pride,
Of her whom a Soldier
Hath chosen his bride :
She shares and she sweetens
His peaceful repose,
And she smiles when to battle
And glory he goes.
SIGH NOT FOR SUMMER FLOWERS.
Sigh not for summer flowers,
What though the dark sky lowers
Welcome ye wint'ry hours,
Our sunshine is within :
Though to the west retreating
Daylight so soon is fleeting,
Now happy friends are meeting,
And now their sports begin :
Sigh not for summer flowers !
c
10
Leaves that our path once shaded,
Now lie around vis faded ;
Groves where we serenaded,
Are desolate and chill :
Nature awhile reposes,
Art his gay realm uncloses,
Beauty displays her roses,
And we are happy still !
Sigh not for summer flowers !
Round us 'tis deeply snowing —
Hark ! — the loud tempest blowing !
See ! — the deep torrent flowing !
How wild the skies appear !
But can the whirlwind move us ?
No — with this roof above us,
Near to the hearts that love us,
We still have sunshine here:
Sigh not for summer flowers !
11
HAND IN HAND, LOVE.
Who would snatch from anxious lovers
Hopes, though they be link'd with fears ?
Who would raise the mist that hovers
O'er our fate in future years ?
Oh ! not I ! though clouds hang o'er us,
Sunbeams dwell beyond them still ;
We'll pass o'er the path before us,
Hand in hand, Love, come what will.
No magician's art 1 covet,
To unfold my future lot ;
Dark or light, no spell can move it,
Then 'tis best to know it not.
In the noon of summer weather,
I'll not dread December's chill ;
Through the world we'll rove together,
Hand in hand, Love, come what will.
c 2
12
E'en the gloomy now and then shall
Own our smiling system right ;
Joy, when shared, grows more substantial,
Grief, when shared, becomes more light.
While from Nature's purest flowers
Nought but poison some distil,
We'll seek honey in her bowers,
Hand, in hand, Love, come what will.
OH! SAY NOT 'TWERE A KEENER BLOW
Oh ! say not 'twere a keener blow
To lose a child of riper years, —
You cannot feel a mother's woe,
You cannot dry a mother's tears ;
The girl who rears a sickly plant,
Or cherishes a wounded dove,
Will love them most, while most they want
The watchfulness of love !
la
Time must have changed that fair young brow !
Time might have changed that spotless heart !
Years might have taught deceit — but now
In love's confiding dawn — we part !
Ere pain or grief had wrought decay,
My babe is cradled in the tomb ;
Like some fair blossom torn away
Before its perfect bloom.
With thoughts of peril and of storm,
We see a bark first touch the wave ;
But distant seems the whirlwind's form,
As distant — as an infant's grave!
Though all is calm, that beauteous ship
Must brave the whirlwind's rudest breath ;
Though all is calm, that infant's lip
Must meet the kiss of Death !
14
'TWAS A FRIEND OF MY EARLY YOUTH.
'Twas a Friend of my early youth
That I met in a foreign land,
I knew him not — but thought I touch'd
A passing stranger's hand !
But the spell of the voice can never end ;
He spoke — and I knew my early friend.
Oh ! that voice did revive again
All the feelings of other years,
The smile of welcome died away —
The word — was lost in tears ;
He spoke — 'twas a voice from my home I hear'd,
And it struck my heart's most sensitive chord.
15
ON THE HILLS I WANDERED EARLY.
On the hills I wandered early,
And I saw a maiden there,
Who was twining fresh wild flowers
With the tresses of her hair ;
And I said when I beheld her
In her simple garb arrayed —
" This is one of nature's blossoms,
" Formed for solitude and shade."
To the dance I went at midnight,
And I saw a maiden there,
With a coronet of jewels
Round the tresses of her hair :
It was she 1 met so early !
But her simple garb was gone,
And she now seemed formed to revel
In the sunshine of a throne1 !
16
Oh! when youth and beauty mingle
In the mansions of the gay,
Let not the old condemn them,
And turn scornfully away :
For in truth there may be many
Who like my fair mountain maid,
Keep their brightness for the sunshine,
And their virtues for the shade !
A FEATHEU IN MY CAP.
My heart was free**-you caught it,
My friends look'd on and thought it
A feather in
My cap, to win
Your love, — so many sought it !
A feather in my cap 'twill prove
Though we're no more together,
Go, fickle one ! your flimsy love,
Is nothing but— a feather !
17
You are not what I thought you,
When long ago I sought you ;
Your face is fair,
But lurking there
Is a frown that Pride hath taught you
Then go — some other victim find,
Forgetting— I'll -'forgive you;
Since Vanity has changed your mind,
I'll change my own, and leave you.
I'LL WATCH FOR THEE FROM MY LONELY TOWER.
I'll watch for thee
From my lonely towers-
Come o'er the sea
At the twilight hour ;
Come when the day
Passes away !■■■-•• ,
Come when the nightingale sings oh the tree !
Come, and remove
Doubts of thy love ; — :
But if thou lov'st me hot, come not to me !
D
18
Why did'st thou say
I was brighter far r
Than the bright ray
Of the evening star ?
Why did'st thou come,
Seeking my home,
'Till I believed that thy love was sincere ?
Oh ! if thy vow
Wearies thee now —
Though I may weep for thee — never come here
THE LAST GREEN LEAF.
The last green leaf hangs lonely now,
Her summer friends have left the bou^h.
Yet though they withered one by one,
The last still flutters in the sun ! ~
And so it is with us to-day ;
The bowl is fill'd — we must be gay ;
We sing old songs again,— &nd yet ' ;
We've lost old friends since last we met.
19
But should some lost one now return
And view us here, he would , discern ,
Some lips that press the goblet's brim,
To hide the sigh that's breathed for him.
We do not meet to. banish thought.
Yet though regrets will come unsought.
We will not waste in sighs of grief-
Life's ling'ring joy — our last green leaf.
THE BEACON LIGHT.
Why nightly burns a Beacon light
In yon secluded bay ?
Who keeps the little taper bright
Until the dawn of day ?
Oh it hath been for many years
A lonely woman's care ;
Her form is chang'd by time and tears,
Yet still the light is there !
d 2
20
'Twas kindled by an anxious Bride,
One evening wild and dark ;
She hoped to guide across the tide
Her sailor's fragile bark :
At sunset it was just in sight-
But storm-clouds fill'd the air !
And all that long, long dreadful night*
The Beacon light was there.
Morn came at last, — the sail was gone !
She never saw it more !
Year after year she lives alone
Upon that fatal shore :
Unconscious of her faded form,
She braids ner snow-white hair ;
To guide her bridegroom thro' the storm,
The Beacon light is there !
21
TEACH, OH TEACH ME TO FORGET.
Friends depart, and Memory takes them
To her caverns pure and deep ;
And a forced smile only wakes them
From the shadows where they sleep.
Who shall school the heart's affection ?
Who shall banish it's regret ?
If you blame my deep dejection,
Teach, oh teach me to forget !
Bear me not to festive bowers ;
'Twas with them I sat there last !
Weave me not spring's early flowers,
They'll remind me of the past !
Music seems like mournful wailing
In the halls where we have met ;
Mirth's gay call is unavailing —
Teach, oh teach me to forget !
22
One who hopelessly remembers,
Cannot bear a dawning light ;
He would rather watch the embers
Of a love that once was bright : "
Who shall school the heart's affection ?
Who shall banish it's regret? "
If you blame my deep dejection-
Teach, oh teach me to forget !
MAY THY LOT IN LIFE BE HAPPY.
May thy lot in life be happy, undisturbed by thoughts of me,
The God who shelters innocence, thy guard and guide will be ;
Thy heart will lose the chilling sense of hopeless lave at last,
And the sunshine of the future chase the shadows of the past.
I never wish to meet thee more, though I am still thy friend —
I never wish to meet thee more, since dearer ties must end ;
With worldly smiles and worldly words, I could not pass thee by,
Nor turn from thee unfeelingly with cold averted eye.
23
I could not bear to meet thee 'midst the thoughtless and the gay ;
I could not bear to view thee deck'd in fashion's bright array ;
And less could I endure to meet thee pensive and alone,
When thro' the trees the ev'ning breeze breathes forth it's cheerless moan.
p \ - ■
For 1 have met thee 'midst the gay - — and thought of none but thee ;
And I have seen thy bright array — when it was worn for me ;
And often near the sunny waves I've wandered by thy side,
With joy — that pass'd away as fast as sunshine from the tide.
I never wish to meet thee more,-~-yet think not Pve-been taught,
By smiling foes, to injure thee by one unworthy thought.
No — blest with some beloved one, from care and sorrow free,
May thy lot in life be happy, undisturb'd by thoughts of me.
,. , i
24
MY HAUP OF SMILES,
Oh if upon my harp of smiles
One string may still be found,
For thee once more I'll strive to wake
It's long neglected sound :
I must be gay, that smile of thine
Ne'er shone on me in vain.
Come forth my harp of smiles ! I'll sing
My cheerful songs again.
I thought that in my solitude
Such songs would ne'er be sung,
But thou art here — and I am changed !
My very heart feels young !
One link restored, we reunite
The long-lost, broken chain ;
Come forth, my harp of smiles ! I'll sing
My cheerful songs again.
25
I'll sing of Love ! aye love like thine,
Still faithful to it's vow ;
I'll sing of joy ! the boundless joy
That fills my bosom now :
I'll tell thee tales of constancy
That triumphs over pain —
Come forth my harp of smiles ! I'll sing
My cheerful songs again.
FLAG OF THE WRECK.
Under the white cliff
Moulders the wreck,
See, the huge top-mast
Lies on the deck ;
Ne'er shall its white wings
Hover again,
Like a wild sea-bird
Over the main.
E
/
26
Tom is the banner
Blood-red and blue ; —
Where is the captain ?
Where are the crew ?
Hush'd are their passions,
Calm is their sleep,
Under the billows
Five fathom deep.
Desperate beings,
Reckless as brave !
Ocean — your war-field,
Now is your grave !
Tempests have riven
Topmast and deck,
Sea-weed flaunts o'er them,
Flag of the Wreck !
27
FLY AWAY, PRETTY MOTH !
Fly away, pretty Moth ! to the shade
Of the leaf where you slumber'd all day ;
Be content with the moon and the stars, pretty moth !
And make use of your wings, while you may :
Though yon glittering light
May have dazzled you quite,
Though the gold of yon' lamp may be gay ;
Many things in this world that look bright, pretty moth !
Only dazzle to lead us astray !
I have seen, pretty moth ! in the world
Some as wild as yourself, and as gay,
Who bewitch'd by the sweet fascination of eyes,
Flitted round them by night and by day :
But though dreams of delight
May have dazzled them quite,
They at last found it dangerous play !
Many things in this world that look bright, pretty moth !
Only dazzle to lead us astray !
E 2
28
I'D BE A BUTTERFLY.
I'd be a Butterfly born in a bower
Where roses, and lilies, and violets meet,
Roving for ever from flower to flower,
And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet :
I'd never languish for wealth or for power,
I'd never sigh to see slaves at my feet,
I'd be a butterfly born in a bower,
Kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet.
Oh could I pilfer the wand of a fairy,
I'd have a pair of those beautiful wings ;
Their summer day's ramble is sportive and airy,
They sleep in a rose when the nightingale sings :
Those who have wealth must be watchful and wary,
Power, alas ! nought but misery brings ;
I'd be a butterfly sportive and airy,
Rock'd in a rose when the nightingale sings.
29
What though you tell me each gay little rover
Shrinks from the breath of the first autumn day
Surely 'tis better when summer is over
To die — when all fair things are fading away :
Some in life's winter may toil to discover
Means of procuring a weary delay,
I'd be a butterfly living a rover,
Dying when fair things are fading away.
BE A BUTTERFLY THEN.
Be a Butterfly then ! — be the wildest, the worst,
Of the Insects that flutter Life's summer away ;
Fly from bower to bower, as if thou wer't nurst
For no end upon Earth but to trifle and play ;
Leave the labour of life to the Ant and the Bee,
While the world is so bright, what is labour to thee ?
so
Be a Butterfly then ! — -a mere summer day's toy,
To and fro flitting ever from smiles to repose ;
Turn away from all shadows, and fancy it joy
To ramble in sunshine, or sleep in a rose :
Leave the labour of life to the Ant and the Bee,
While the world is so bright, what is labour to thee ?
Be a Butterfly then ! — but the summer is brief,
And a season of tempest too soon will arrive ;
When the garden has lost every blossom and leaf,
Thou wilt sigh for the sweets of the sheltering hive
Though the winter has joy for the Ant and the Bee,
When the world is so cold, what is pleasure to thee ?
31
ONE MORN I LEFT MY BOAT.
One morn I left my boat, to stray-
In yon' island's dewy bowers,
I cull'd it's sweets and sail'd away
With my stolen store of flowers :
The west wind bore me o'er the flood,
My prize from the sun I shaded ;
But ere ev'ning came the fairest bud
In my lovely wreath was faded !
That eve when nought but sea, and sky,
In the dreary prospect blended,
A little blue-wing'd butterfly
Upon the deck descended !
It nestled near the rose, it's wing
Then lost it's buoyant power,
And I saw the insect withering
Beside its own poor flower.
32
ROUND MY OWN PRETTY ROSE
Round my own pretty rose, I have hover'd all day,
I have seen its sweet leaves one by one fade away ;
They are gone, they are gone, — but I go not with them,
No, I linger to weep o'er the desolate stem :
They say if I rove to the south, I shall meet
With hundreds of roses, more fair and more sweet ;
But my heart when it is tempted to wander replies —
Here my first love — my last love — my only love lies !
When I sprang from the home where my plumage was nurst,
'Twas my own pretty rose that attracted me first ;
We have loved all the summer, and now that the chill
Of the winter comes o'er us, I'm true to thee still:
When the last leaf is withered, and falls to the earth,
The false one to southerly climes may fly forth ;
But truth cannot fly from his sorrow, — he dies
Where his first love, — his last love, — his only love lies.
33
WAKE, DEAREST LOVE ! THE MOON IS BRIGHT.
Wake, dearest Love ! the moon is bright ;
Dream not away so sweet a night ;
When clouds come on, repose at ease,
But do not waste nights fair as these :
The very birds are all awake !
The swan is roused and skims the lake !
The world's so bright, the summer bee
Believes 'tis noon ! — then come to me !
Oh ! 'tis the time for serenades !
When the moon peeps thro' orange shades,
Guitars and voices gain a tone
Of sweet enchantment, not their own !
There's a wild cadence in the breeze !
A murmur in the trembling trees !
The silver ripple of the sea
Has music in it ! — come to me !
34
And few such nights are left us now,
The yellow tint is on the bough ;
The farewell whisper Summer gives
Just curls the lake, just fans the leaves ;
Too soon will wane the harvest moon,
The latest rose will fade too soon ;
But in my heart there still will be
A summer — if you'll come to me.
I'M SADDEST WHEN I SING.
You think I have a merry heart
Because my songs are gay,
But, Oh ! they all were taught to me
By friends now far away :
The bird will breathe her silver note
Though bondage binds her wing —
But is her song a happy one ?
I'm saddest when I sing !
35
I heard them first in that sweet home
I never more shall see,
And now each song of joy, has got
A mournful turn for me :
Alas ! 'tis vain in winter time
To mock the songs of spring,
Each note recalls some wither'd leaf —
I'm saddest when I sing !
Of all the friends I used to love
My harp remains alone ;
It's faithful voice still seems to be
An echo to my own :
My tears when I bend over it
Will fall upon it's string,
Yet those who hear me, little think
I'm saddest when I sing !
f 2
36
ISABEL.
Wake, dearest, wake ! and, again united,
We '11 rove by yonder sea ;
And where our first vows of love were plighted,
Our last farewell shall be ;
There oft I 've gaz'd on thy smiles delighted,
And there I '11 part from thee,
Isabel.
Dark is my doom ; and from Thee I sever,
Whom I have lov'd alone ;
'T were cruel to link thy fate for ever
With sorrows like my own ;
Go — smile on livelier friends, and never
Lament me when I 'm gone,
Isabel.
37
And when at length in these lovely bowers
Some happier youth you see,
And you culler him spring's sweetest flowers,
And he sings of \owe for thee ;
When you laugh with him at these vanish'd hours,
O ! tell him to love like me,
Isabel.
May his harp in mirthful moments bless thee
With measures light and gay ;
And if mournful thoughts should e'er oppress thee,
And cloud thy youthful day,
May He with unchanging love caress thee,
And kiss thy tears away,
Isabel,
38
THE> MOTHER'S LULLABY.
Dearest Infant ! pure as fair,
Whilst I watch thy closing eye,
Thus, my babe, thy mother's prayer,
Mingles with her lullaby.
Oh be content
And innocent !
When thy lips' uncertain sound
Ripens into words at length ;
When thy foot, upon the ground
Steps, relying on it's strength ;
Oh be content
And innocent !
39
When the tempting world shall come
With the garlands that she weaves,
Some without a thorn — but some
Hiding poison in their leaves ;
Oh be content
And innocent !
TAKE AGAIN ALL YOU GAVE.
Take again all you gave as the proofs of your love,
Take them back for their value is gone ;
They were dear to me once, but with others you rove,
I am left to weep o'er them alone.
Since the heart you gave with them no longer is mine,
Since my tears and entreaties are vain ;
Fare thee well ! each remembrance I proudly resign,
They are worthless — receive them again !
40
Take the harp so long used to the songs of your choice,
When your taste was content with my skill ;
Take it back, since you now find no charm in my voice
Though I sing your old favourites still :
Take the garlands you sportively taught me to twine —
Take the steed that you led by the rein ;
Fare thee well ! each remembrance I proudly resign,
They are worthless — receive them again !
THE DARK WINTER TIME.
A goblet with gems may be shining,
Though bitter the poison within,
So gay wreaths are often entwining
The lure that entices to sin :
Oh ! turn from the false tongues that flatter,
They cannot ennoble a crime :
Oh ! think of the thorns they would scatter
O'er thy path — in the dark winter time !
41
The home of thy youth may be lonely,
The friends of thy youth may be cold ;
The morals they teach may seem only
Fit chains for the feeble and old :
Yet though they may fetter a spirit
That soars in the pride of it's prime,
The friends of thy infancy merit
All thy love — in the dark winter time !
The stranger in gems would array Thee;
More pure are the braids thou hast worn ;
Say — would not their lustre betray Thee,
Attracting the finger of scorn ?
Go gaze once again on thy dwelling,
The porch where the wild flowers climb ;
Go pray, while thy young heart is swelling —
Pray for peace — in the dark winter time.
G
42
THE FORWARD SPRING.
Spring once was impatient of schooling and nursing,
And grew very Jine for a season so young ;
Her playthings she scorned, artificially forcing
The charms of her person, the wit of her tongue :
Her snowdrops neglecting, her roses displaying,
And singing — as summer birds only should sing ;
She smiled, and the world her attractions surveying,
Declared it had ne'er seen so forward a Spring !
But soon this same world, which is never unwilling
To lower pretensions it sanctioned in haste ;
Perceived that her mornings and evenings were chilling,
And all her forced fruit was found wanting in taste.
" Alas !" cried the young year, " the charms that I boasted
" If lavished too early, too early decay ;
" I've lost the pure pleasure of Spring, and exhausted
" The green leaves that might have made Summer look gay."
43
And now I will venture to look for a moral,
In this little song, which so simple appears ;
Go Childhood and play with your bells and your coral,
And sigh not for pleasures unfit for your years :
Though Infancy tutored by art, prematurely
May imitate man in look, action, and tone ;
Life's Summer will not be forestall'd, and too surely
The charm of life's Spring-time for ever is gone !
THOUGH THE SUMMER MAY HAVE ROSES.
Though the Summer may have roses
That outshine the buds of spring,
Deeper shadows in the forest,
Blither birds upon the wing :
When I see a bright spring morning
After long — long days of gloom ;
Summer seems to sport around me
In his infancy of bloom !
g 2
44
Oh 'tis sad to see the splendor
Of the Summer pass away ;
When the night is always stealing
Precious moments from the day :
But in Spring each lengthen'd evening
Tempts us farther off from home ;
And if Summer has more beauty,
All that beauty is to come !
OH ! LEAVE ME TO MY SORROW.
Oh ! leave me to my sorrow,
For my heart is oppress'd to-day ;
Oh ! leave me, — and to-morrow
Dark shadows may pass away :
There's a time when all that grieves us
Is felt with a deeper gloom ;
There's a time when Hope deceives us,
And we dream of bright days to come.
45
In winter, from the mountain
The stream in a torrent flows ;
In summer, the same fountain
Is calm as a child's repose :
Thus, in grief, the first pangs wound us,
And tears of despair gush on ;
Time brings forth new flowers around us,
And the tide of our grief is gone !
Then heed not my pensive hours,
Nor bid me be cheerful now ;
Can sunshine raise the flowers
That droop on a blighted bough ?
The lake in the tempest wears not
The brightness it's slumber wore ;
The heart of the mourner cares not
For joys that were dear before.
46
GO, MY OWN DARLING BOY.
Go, my own darling Boy,
Though to see thee depart,
Blights the last bud of joy
In my desolate heart :
Thou art call'd to the field
Where thy father was slain ;
And thy mother must yield
Her last treasure again.
My Child only thinks
Of the conqueror's wreath ;
My coward heart shrinks
With forebodings of death :
Thy friends may be seen
Giving laurels to Thee ;
But branches as green
Will then wave over me !
47
The young may assuage
Half their parting regrets,
But care clings to age —
Till it doats — and forgets !
The young who deplore,
May yet meet thee in joy ;
But thy mother no more
Shall behold Thee— dear Boy !
SHE NEVER BLAMED HIM,— NEVER.
She never blamed him — never,
But received him when he came,
With a welcome kirid as ever,
Though she started at his name :
But vainly she dissembled,
For whene'er she tried to smile
A tear unbidden trembled
In her blue eye all the while.
48
She knew that she was dying,
And she dreaded not her doom ;
She never thought of sighing
O'er her beauty's blighted bloom :
She knew her cheek was alter'd,
And she knew her eye was dim ;
But her sweet voice only falter'd
When she spoke of leaving him.
Tis true that He had lured her
From the Isle where she was born ;
'Tis true He had inured her
To the cold world's cruel scorn :
But yet she never blamed him,
For the anguish she had known,
And though she seldom named him —
Yet she thought of him alone.
49
She sighed when he caress'd her,
For she knew that they must part ;
She spoke not when He press'd her
To his young and panting heart :
The banners waved around her,
And she heard the bugles sound ;
They pass'd — and strangers found her
Cold and lifeless on the ground.
THE NURSERY TALE.
Oh ! did you not hear in your nursery,
The tale that the gossips tell,
Of the two young Girls that came to drink
At a certain Fairy well ?
The words of the Youngest were as sweet
As the smile on her ruby lip ;
But the tongue of the Eldest seemed to move
As if venom were on its tip !
H
50
At the well a Beggar accosted them,
(A Sprite in a mean disguise ;)
The Eldest spoke with a scornful brow,
The Youngest with tearful eyes :
Cried the Fairy " whenever you speak, sweet girl,
" Pure gems from your lips shall fall ;"
" But whenever you utter a word, proud maid,
" From your tongue shall a serpent crawl."
And have you not met with these sisters oft
In the haunts of the old and young ?
The first with her pure and unsullied lip ?
The last with her serpent tongue ?
Yes — the first is Goodnature — diamonds bright
On the darkest theme she throws ;
And the last is Slander — leaving the slime
Of the snake wherever she goes ! .
51
THE MAGICAL MIRROR.
" Why wed you not, Baron ?" once whispered a Fairy,
" There's gold in your coffers, why wed you not now ?'
" Not yet," quoth the Baron, " 'tis best to be wary,
" I might make a change for the worse you'll allow :
" My temper's a jealous one, Beauty would keep
" My mind in a frenzy — I'll look 'ere I leap."
" Oh give me a boon," cried the Baron — " pray give me
" A Magical Mirror of chrystal and gold ;
" And in it, if Womankind e'er should deceive me,
" The cause of her fickleness let me behold."
" 'Tis your's !" said the Fairy ; " whatever may be
" The cause of your grief, there that cause you shall see !"
H 2
52
The Baron soon married, soon found out his error,
He sighed in his castle, a desolate place ;
He eagerly sought in his Magical Mirror
The cause of the evil — and saw—to own face t
When Age finds a blank in the lot that he draws,
He need raise no Fairy to tell him the cause !
YOUNG BRINCAN BEWARE I
Beware of the Fairy ! young Brincan beware,
Thy cheeks are like roses and bright is thy hair ;
Thy Beauty hath charm'd her, beware of her speh\
She is calling Thee down to her bright coral cell ;
Look not on the waters for danger is there, —
Row homeward — row homeward ! young Brincan beware t
53
Her spell is upon him ! like one who would leap
To the arms of a mistress, he dives in the deep ;
Sweet harmonies hail him, he seems to repose
On an emerald pillow as downward he goes !
A Fairy receives him, oh ! what is so fair
As that beautiful Being ! young Brincan beware !
Her hair is sea-green ! but he heeds not it's hue
When he looks on her eyes of ethereal blue ;
He loves the fair sea nymph, forgetting the worth
Of his own betrothed maiden, the fairest on earth :
'Tis morn and he leaves her — his boat is still there —
Row homeward — row homeward ! — young Brincan beware !
The spell is dissolved as he steps on the shore,
He seeks his bethroth'd — but she loves him no more !
" Thy hair," she exclaims, " is as green as the sea !
" And a web-footed Man is no Lover for me ! "
— 'Tis thus with the Fickle, who fond vows forswear
For Fairy, or Woman ! so Lovers, beware !
54
MY WIFE IS VERY MUSICAL.
My Wife is very musical,
She times it over much,
And teazes me with what they call
Her fingering and touch !
She's instrumental to my pain,
Her very Broadwood quakes !
Her vocal efforts split my brain !
I shiver when she shakes !
She tells me, with the greatest ease
Her voice goes up to C !
And proves it, till her melodies
Are maladies to me :
She's " Isabelling" if I stir
From where my books lie hid,
Or " Oh no we never mention her"-
I wish she never did \
55
Her newest turns, turn out to be
The same we heard last year ;
Alas ! there's no variety
In variations here :
I see her puff, I see her pant
Thro' ditties wild and strange,
I wish she'd change her notes, they want
Some silver, and some change !
BENEDICITE DAUGHTER.
The Lady Abbess was gone to her rest,
And the Nuns in their cells were sleeping,
Save one who sick of so dull a nest,
Was over the battlement peeping ;
And under the convent wall she spied,
A boat on the dimpling water,
And in it a youth who fondly cried —
" Come down — Benedicite Daughter ! "
56
She threw him one end of a silken thread,
And she kept fast hold of the other,
" Be silent — be silent" — she trembling said,
" Or you'll wake our Lady Mother ! "
She drew up a ladder of ropes, and soon
The youth in his stout arms caught her ;
" Away !" he cried, " by the light of the moon,
" Away ! Benedicite Daughter ! "
The Lady Abbess awoke — and she heard
A noise at the midnight hour ;
She counted her brood, and missing a Bird,
She sought it in hall and tower :
The ladder she spied — and down it she hied —
— But she tumbled into the water !
The boat sail'd off, and the Lovers cried
" Farewell ! Benedicite Daughter!"
57
LORD HARRY HAS WRITTEN A NOVEL
Lord Harry has written a Novel,
A story of elegant life ;
No stuff about love in a hovel,
No sketch of a clown and his wife :
No trash such as pathos, and passion,
Fine feelings, expression, and wit,
But all about people of fashion,
Come look at his caps, how they fit !
Oh, RadclifFe ! thou once wert the charmer
Of girls who sat reading all night ;
Thy Heroes were striplings in armour !
Thy Heroines damsels in white !
But past are thy terrible touches,
Our lips in derision we curl,
Unless we are told how a Duchess
Conversed with her cousin, the Earl }
58
Our dialogues now must be quite full
Of Titles, " I give you my word,
" My Lady, you 're looking delightful ! "
" Indeed, do you think so, my Lord ! "
" You 've heard of the Marquiss's marriage,
" The Bride with her jewels new set,
" Four horses, new travelling carriage,
" And Dejeuner a lajburchette."
Haut ton finds her privacy broken,
We trace all her ins and her outs ;
The very small talk that is spoken
By very great people at routs :
At Tenby Miss Jinks asks the loan of
The book from the innkeeper's wife ;
And she reads till she dreams she is one of
The leaders of elegant life.
59
FAIRY FAVOURS !
I have dreamt of Fairy favours,
Of the gold that lies conceal'd,
Where no outward mark betrays it
In the poor man's sterile field :
Is not Industry the Fairy,
Who can call these favours forth ;
Who can raise a golden harvest
From the bosom of the earth ?
I have dreamt of Fairy favours,
Of the spell that will secure
True Love through all it's trials,
Still as holy, and as pure :
Is not Constancy the Fairy ?
Is not Innocence her spell ?
Yes, a Paradise she raises
Where true Love delights to dwell
i 2
60
I have dreamt of Fairy favours,
Of a Home of perfect bliss,
No Monarch has a Palace
Half so beautiful as this :
And is not Content the Fairy,
Who beholds the map unfurl'd,
And points to her own dwelling,
As the best in all the world ?
'/
THIS IS MY ELDEST DAUGHTER, SIR !
This is my eldest Daughter, Sir,
Her mother's only care ;
You praise her face — -oh ! Sir, she is
As good as she is fair !
My angel Jane is clever too,
Accomplishments I 've taught her !
1 11 introduce you to her, Sir,
— This is my eldest Daughret
61
I 've sought the aid of ornament,
Beje welling her curls,
1 've tried her Beauty unadorned,
Simplicity and pearls :
I 've set her off to get her off,
'Till fallen off I 've thought her ;
Yet I 've softly breathed to all the Beaux—
" This is my eldest Daughter."
I 've tried all styles of hair dressing,
Madonnas, frizzes, crops ;
Her waist I 've laced ; her back I 've braced,
'Till circulation stops !
I 've padded her until I have
Into a Venus wrought her,
But puffing her has no effect !
■ — This is my eldest Daughter,
62
Jk i .
Her gowns are a la Aekerman,
Her corsets a la Bell ;
Yet when the season ends, each Beau
Still leaves his T. T. L.
I patronise each Dejeune,
Each party on the water,
Yet still she hangs upon my arm !
This is my eldest Daughter.
She did refuse a Gentleman —
— I own it was absurd —
She thought she ought to answer " No ! "
He took her at her word !
But she 'd say " Yes," if any one
That 's eligible sought her ;
She really is a charming girl
Though she's my eldest Daughter.
63
THE FADED LOVE-KNOT.
You do not now remember
This ribbon once so gay !
And yet it was your own gift
Upon our wedding day :
You had no gems to offer,
I never sighed for them ;
I prized this little Love-knot
Beyond the brightest gem.
I thought you would not know it,
Alas ! 'tis faded now ;
How chang'd, since last it flutter'd
Upon a Bridal brow !
Yet once a year I '11 wear it,
Let Triflers say their worst —
I '11 tell them I 'm as happy
As when I wore it first !
64
Too many find their Love-knots
Were never made to last ;
The knot remains to gall them,
When all the love is past !
Though mine has long been faded,
My pride it still shall be,
For He who gave the Love-knot
Is very kind to me.
AT HOME !
Invitations I will write,
All the world I will invite,
I will deign to show civility, ^
To the tip tops of gentility,
To the cream of the Nobility "
I 'm " At Home" next Monday night
65
See my Footman how he runs !
Ev'ry paltry street he shuns !
I'm " at home " to Peers and Peeresses,
Who reside in Squares and Terraces,
I'm " at home " to Heirs and Heiresses,
And of course to eldest sons.
I'm " at home " to all the set
Of Exclusives I have met ;
If a Rival open has her doors,
All the Coronets shall pass her doors,
I'm " at home " to the Ambassadors,
Though their names I quite forget.
I'm " at home " to Guardsmen all,
Be they short or be they tall ;
I'm " at home " to men Political,
Poetical and Critical ;
And the punning men of wit I call
Acquisitions at a Ball.
66
Oh, the matchless Collinet
On his flageolet shall play :
How I love to hear the thrill of it !
Pasta's song, think what she will of it,
He will make a quick quadrille of it*
" Dove sono," — dance away !
NOT AT HOME!
Not at home ! not at home ! close my curtain again,
Go and send the intruders away ;
They may knock if they will, but 'tis labour in vain,
For I am not made up for the day ;
Though my Ball was the best of all possible Balls,
Though I graced my saloon like a Queen ;
I've a head-ache to-day, so if any one calls- —
" Not at home !" I am not to be seen.
67
Not at home ! not at home ! bring strong coffee at two,
But now leave me to doze in the dark,
I'm too pale for my pink, I'm too brown for my blue,
I'm too sick for my drive in the Park.
If the Man whose attentions are pointed should call —
(Eliza, you know who I mean,)
Oh say, when he knocks, I'm knock'd up by my ball,
" Not at home !" I am not to be seen.
Not at home to Sir John, should the Baron dismount,
Not at home till my ringlets are curl'd ;
Should the Jeweller call with his " little account,"
Not at home ! not at home for the world !
I at midnight must shine at three splendid " at homes,"
Then adieu to my morning chagrin ;
Close my curtain again, for till candlelight comes,
" Not at home !" I am not to be seen.
K Z
68
THE MEN ARE ALL CLUBBING TOGETHER.
The Men are all Clubbing together,
Abandoning gentle pursuits,
They revel with Birds of a feather,
And dine in black neckcloths and boots !
There's no party spirit about them,
(My parties are stupid concerns,)
The Ladies sit sulky without them,
Or dance with each other by turns.
Oh ! where are the Dandies who flirted.
Who came of a morning to call ?
We Females are so disconcerted —
I'd fee Males to come to my Ball !
'Twas flattery charm'd us, — no matter,
Paste often may pass for a gem,
Alas ! we are duller and flatter,
Than when we were flatter'd by them !
When Family dinners we're giving,
They send an excuse — there's the rub !
Each Gourmand, secure of good living,
Like Hercules leans on his Club !
A Hermit, though Beauty invites him,
Alone at the Union he sits !
But what is the Fare that delights him,
Compared with the Fair that he quits ?
MY HUSBAND MEANS EXTREMELY WELL.
My Husband means extremely well,
Good, honest, humdrum man ;
And really I can hardly tell
How first our feuds began :
It was a match of my Mamma's,
No match at all, I mean ;
Unless declining fifty has
One feature like fifteen.
70
I longed to leave the prosing set,
Papa, and durance vile ;
I longed to have a landaulet,
And four neat grays, in style :
Sir William's steeds were thorough bred,
He woo'd me fourteen days ;
And I consented, though his head
Was grayer than his grays !
For, oh ! I pined for pineries,
Plate, pin-money, and pearls ;
For smiles from Royal Highnesses,
Dukes, Marquisses, and Earls :
Sir William was in Parliament,
And noticed by the King,
So when he made his settlement,
It was a settled thing.
71
He grumbles now ! a Woman's whim
Turns night to day, he says !
As if he thought I'd stay with him,
Benighting all my days !
At six He rises, as for Me
At twelve I ring my bell ;
Thus we're wound up alternately
Like buckets in a well !
72
PVE SONGS TO SELL.
I've songs to sell, I've songs to sell,
Will you buy ? will you buy ?
Come cash my notes, I never yet
Have pitch'd my price too high.
Come, Lovers, I have lays for you,
All sentiment, and sighs ;
And similes — not over new,
And vows — not over wise :
I've Serenades that ought to move
The most obdurate Fair ;
I've transports for triumphant Love,
And dolefuls for Despair.
I've Ballads, Lady, if you make
Such simple things your choice ;
Oh sing, and let my verse partake
The sweetness of your voice :
73
While They who simple lays despise,
Preferring flights sublime,
Will find that I can sacrifice
My reason to my rhyme I
I've songs for those with spirits high,
Who mingle laugh and jest ;
For Mothers I've a lullaby
To soothe a Babe to rest :
Come one and all and buy my lays,
Let none refuse to sing,
For I have loyal songs, in praise
Of England, and her King !
I've songs to sell, I've songs to sell,
Will you buy ? will you buy ?
Come cask my notes, I never yet
Have pitch'd my price too high.
74
OLD TRUTH AND YOUNG ROMANCE.
Young Romance through Roses stray ing,
Saw old Truth trudge lamely on on,
One in Pleasure's light was playing,
The other sigh'd for Pleasures gone.
Cries Romance, " Oh rest a minute,
" And discuss our views of Earth,
" Your's may have most prudence in it,
" But in mine is all the mirth."
" Ah !" says Truth, this world discloses
" Nought hut vain, delusive wiles ;
" Thorns are under all your roses,
" Sadness follows all your smiles."
Cries Romance, " Perhaps I often
" Colour Life with tints too warm ;
" Yet my warmth a shade may soften,
" While your coldness chills a charm."
75
" Go !" says Truth, " 'tis plain we never
" Can such hostile views combine ;
" Fancy is your guide for ever,
" While dull Sense must still be mine"
Cries the Youth, " Frown on — no matter —
" Mortals love my playful glance ;
" E'en in Truth's own path, they scatter
" Roses snatch'd from young Romance !
L 2
NOTES
NOTES.
NOTE, Page 5.
Oh no, we never speak of her'
This Song is here printed as it was originally written 5 as a musical publication
some alterations were made, and words less poetical, but more adapted for singing,
were substituted for those here given.
NOTE, Page 28.
" Td be a Butterfly."
The author is permitted by Archdeacon Wrangham to reprint his elegant Trans-
lation of this Song. That distinguished Scholar has written similar Translations of
many other of his Poems, and he here begs to express his very high sense of the
compliment.
Ah sim Papilio, natus in flosculo.
Rosae ubi liliaque et violae patent ;
Floribus advolans, avolans, osculo
Gemraulas tangens, quae suave olent !
Regna et opes ego neutiquara postulo,
Nolo ego ad pedes qui se volutent —
Ah sim Papilio, natus in flosculo,
Osculans geramas quae suave olent !
Magicara si possem virgam furari,
Alas has pulchras aptem mi, eheu !
iEstivis actis diebus in aere,
Rosa" cubant Philomelee cantu.
Opes quid afferunt ? Curas, somnum rare ;
Regna nil praeter aerumnas, eheu !
Ah sim Papilio, die volans aere,
Ros§. Cubans Philomelas cantu !
Quemque horum vagulum dicis horrore
Frigora Autumni ferire suo :
iEstas quando abiit, mallem ego mori,
Omni quod dulce est cadente pulchro.
Brumae qui cupiunt captent labore
Gaudia, et moras breves trahunto —
Ah sim Papilio ; vivam in errore,
Concidamque omni cadente pulchro. F. W.
January, 1828.
80
NOTE, Page 31.
" One Morn I left my Boat"
This Song was originally published in the " Loves of the Butterflies ;" and the
present volume being intended exclusively for private circulation, the author cannot
resist the opportunity of printing the following Lines, written on a blank leaf of
that work by his excellent and highly valued friend, Lord Ashtown, to whom
it was dedicated.
The fluttering Butterfly of old
Was emblem of the soul, we're told, —
To you the type may well belong,
Your Butterflies the soul of song :
But why to me inscribe a tale
Of Loves, that flutter in the gale
Of Spring, or Summer's genial ray —
To me, who hasten to decay?
Why not address the sportive song
To Helen, beautiful and young ?
She well may claim a Minstrel's skill,
Altho' a Wife, a mistress still.
Yet such the magic of your strain,
E'en Age might live and love again,
While Fancy renovates the theme
Of Hope, and Joy, and Love's young dream.
M. MEYLER, ABBEY CHURCH-YARD, BATH.
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